


Reciprocity

by bluecrownedmotmot



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Casual Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecrownedmotmot/pseuds/bluecrownedmotmot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burgerpants becomes acquainted with Mettaton EX. Very acquainted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reciprocity

The bell on the shop door jingled.

“Darling!”

The voice sent a chill down Burgerpants' spine.

“My dear, have you heard the news? We can leave for the surface.”

Burgerpants turned from the grill, expecting to see an overgrown calculator on the other side of the counter.

That was not, in fact, what he saw when he turned around.

There was a tall android in pink heels sitting in the center of the counter, his legs daintily tucked in front of him. Burgerpants felt relief briefly at not seeing the rectangle and then ice cold fear. That was his boss. Of course it was.

“Sir. You... Look different.”

His boss was... Really attractive. The amount of magnetism Mettaton exerted over people as a freaking rectangle was already incredible. But this was... Something else.

Mettaton noticed Burgerpants give him a once-over and accurately surmised the thoughts crossing his employee's mind. Perhaps he understood some of Burgerpants' feelings better than Burgerpants himself did.

“Are you _listening_ to me? We're free. Don't think that means you're getting out of work early. You've still got the rest of your shift.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm afraid not. What if someone wants a Steak in the Shape of My Face on their way out?” Mettaton said with a smile.

“I don't even _have_ any more of those.”

“Well, thaw some. It'll take some time for anyone to come through here anyway. You can take a break from this for now.”

“Great; I'll be back in ten.”

“Ah ah. Did I say you could take a break, _in general_? I said 'from _this_.'” Mettaton leapt off the counter and winked at Burgerpants. “In my office, if you please.”

 

Burgerpants regarded the outfit Mettaton wanted him to try on today. He glared at his boss, who was seated at his desk.

“If you do as I say, I'll give you your vacation days back, plus a few extra if you're a good, obedient employee.”

“You're really obliterating the very last scraps of my dignity.”

“Burgerpants. Sit down.”

Burgerpants obeyed. He had accepted the nickname. It wasn't worth the effort to try to get Mettaton to call him something else.

“Why do you continue to work for me if I make you so miserable?” Mettaton asked softly. His dark eyes were inquisitive, searching.

“Because then I'd have to _apply_ and _train_ for a new job.”

“You're nineteen,” remarked Mettaton, perplexed.

“And my life is basically over,” moaned Burgerpants.

Standing an elbow on his desk, Mettaton leaned his little finger against his eyebrow and rested his cheek against the back his other fingers. He restrained himself from asking Burgerpants if he was fucking serious.

“Go get changed, please,” the robot sighed.

 

“Oh my, don't you look handsome in that,” said Mettaton, biting his knuckle to keep from laughing.

Burgerpants frowned from under the hat of the flamboyant pink mariachi-style _charro_ suit. “Am I allowed to question why I'm trying this on, sir?”

“I hear Mexican culture and food is all the rage right now on the surface,” Mettaton improvised. He was quite adept at fabricating absurd reasons for these dress-up sessions. “Perhaps we can exploit this later to increase profits up there. You can take the hat off.”

Burgerpants walked over to the table in the center of the room and set the hat upon it. “Yeah, right.”

Mettaton was seized with inspiration.

“Hmm, I think I need to see the back of your costume. Turn around.”

He turned.

“Hands on the table. Hands do not come off the table no matter what. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Burgerpants was growing increasingly concerned.

“Don't you have... A tail?” Mettaton inquired, chewing on his lip.

“Why,” retorted Burgerpants flatly.

“Just wondering... Where it is right now. Because I forgot to get you something to wear that would accommodate it. So, where is it?”

“...Down the leg of the pants,” admitted Burgerpants through gritted teeth.

“Oh my, that won't do,” said Mettaton apologetically. “Take them off.”

“What.”

“What is there to not understand here?”

“You told me I couldn't take my hands off the table.”

“Either we can make an exception for a moment, or I can do it for you,” said Mettaton patiently, rising out of his chair.

Burgerpants considered which option was worse. Mettaton's heels clicked slowly up to him. Burgerpants' fur stood up. Mettaton leaned over him, gloved hands clasped behind his back. He was careful not to touch his employee.

“Up to you,” offered Mettaton, startlingly close to Burgerpants' ear. He fingered the intricate embroidery on the suit jacket's lapel, so softly that Burgerpants felt nothing at all, could only see Mettaton's finger caressing the lovely, bright threads.

 

Burgerpants methodically dropped his pants without a glance at the robot and returned his hands to the table.

“Hmm, that looks a lot better, actually.” Mettaton paced behind Burgerpants to get a look. “We'd just need to find something that's not your underwear for you to wear, I suppose. Of course, it doesn't matter what you wear up here. You needn't wear anything at all, as a matter of fact.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” wailed Burgerpants.

“What's the matter?” Mettaton asked innocently. “Could you spread your legs, by the way?”

“The fuck?!”

“ _Language_. A foot here and a foot here would do. That's perfect, thank you.”

Mettaton crawled through Burgerpants' legs, turned under the table, and got up on his knees facing his employee, between where Burgerpants' hands dug into the table. The back of Mettaton's head rested on the edge of the table as he looked up and gave his employee a sultry smile.

Burgerpants tentatively looked down at his boss.

Mettaton delicately pinched the edge of Burgerpants' underwear elastic, and pulled it away from his body slightly. He was still not actually touching his employee.

“You know,” said Mettaton, blinking up at Burgerpants. “You don't have to comply with my every whim.”

“But... You're my boss.”

“You can say 'no' to me. Or quit. You know that, right?”

“I guess.”

“As much as I hate to spoil this fun, I was going to give you back your vacation days anyway. This isn't really _quid pro quo._ ”

Burgerpants considered this, but a vivid daydream of what Mettaton's lips would _feel like_ kept intruding on his deliberations.

“Can we get this over with?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Probably.”

“'Yes, I _would_ like you to blow me, boss?'”

“Whatever.” Burgerpants looked away and nodded subtly.

Mettaton laughed. “Teenagers. Typical.”

 

Mettaton pulled Burgerpants' underwear down his legs. He kissed Burgerpants' fur up his thighs and closed his mouth delicately around his cock. Burgerpants was already semi-hard from anticipating what Mettaton was up to. Mettaton licked him slowly. Burgerpants' penis was unusually shaped. Mettaton explored it with his metal tongue, fascinated.

Perversely, Burgerpants was turned on by the situation itself. It was not long until he was fully erect.

Mettaton came up for air for a moment.

“Why me?” complained Burgerpants, trying to cover his ambivalence with whining.

“Your grudging acquiescence _excites_ me.”

Mettaton cupped Burgerpants' balls and played with them, knowing this would make Burgerpants nervous. He slowly fit his employee's dick past his lips and took it all the way down his throat. He heard Burgerpants' breath catch. He steadied himself by placing his hands on his employee's hips and began blowing him in earnest.

Burgerpants gasped several times. He went to put a hand on the back of Mettaton's head, but Mettaton caught his wrist and stopped abruptly.

“Don't,” Mettaton insisted, black eyes flashing. “You do as I say. Your hands stay on that table.”

“Jeez, fine.”

“I'll take care of you,” Mettaton promised, stroking Burgerpants' tail. Mettaton took Burgerpants back into his mouth, pressing his employee's underside with tongue all the way down. Holy shit, that felt good.

Mettaton got him close and then backed off. And then again. And again. Burgerpants started to ache. Mettaton got him so very near the next time, he thought this was going to be it, but Mettaton pulled away from him completely at a critical final moment, resting his lips on Burgerpants' tip lightly. His boss then shot him a glance that made it obvious Mettaton was very much doing this on purpose.

“I hate you so, so much,” said Burgerpants breathlessly.

Mettaton cackled prettily and sucked lightly on Burgerpants' balls, which hurt. He heard Burgerpants yelp and dig his claws into the table.

“You're being so relatively well behaved. Except your mouth, which I think is rather beyond your control, sadly. Do you want to me to let you come?”

“Yes, obviously,” moaned Burgerpants, who was at the end of his rope.

“Say it,” Mettaton persisted, his voice hushed and rough.

“Just make me come, you crazy fuck,” Burgerpants murmured.

“Close enough,” Mettaton laughed. “I'll reward you now, my darling.” He drew his employee's cock back into his mouth, and applied firm pressure with his tongue. He eased him as far back as he could, until Mettaton's nose was brushing up against soft fur. Burgerpants finally came in hot spurts down Mettaton's throat.

 

Mettaton slid away and swallowed what was left in his mouth. He got to his feet and looked down to scrutinize Burgerpants' bewildered face. He returned to his chair matter-of-factly and put his legs up on his desk.

“Change back into your uniform and go back downstairs,” Mettaton suggested. “Or quit now. It's your decision.”

Burgerpants gathered all his articles of clothing and left the room. He returned in his uniform, and left the costume on the table. He approached the desk and just stared at Mettaton. Mettaton, in turn, studied his employee's face for several moments in silence.

“Sit,” Mettaton commanded, not unkindly.

When Burgerpants had settled down, he tilted his head at his employee. “Are you alright?”

“...Yes,” Burgerpants decided.

Mettaton waited, but Burgerpants didn't say any more. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Do _you_ want anything, sir? Before I go back downstairs?”

Mettaton gave him a tiny smile. “No, I'm fine, thank you. Go downstairs, dear.”

Burgerpants went back downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 11 May 2016 - A related illustration now exists. If you'd like to see it, go here: http://motmotfluttersforth.tumblr.com/post/143872157189/reciprocity-by-bluecrownedmotmot-archive-of
> 
> See you smut enthusiasts,  
> Motmot


End file.
